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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28232139">Pay to the Piper</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyricalsoul/pseuds/lyricalsoul'>lyricalsoul</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Sherlock (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Based on a song, Established Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, M/M, fantasies, mystrade</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 16:28:48</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,496</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28232139</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyricalsoul/pseuds/lyricalsoul</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“Seeing as your portion of the meal – an aged porterhouse and organic accompaniments – cost as much as the monthly budget for a small country, is it not unreasonable for me to expect at least a bit of frottage or some type of intimate touching, Gregory?"</p>
<p>Mycroft is the piper, requesting Greg make payment.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>64</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Pay to the Piper</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This fic is based on the soulful song "Pay to the Piper" by The Chairmen of the Board, and is on the list of songs that make you go "WTF???" because it's just inappropriate. "I paid the tune, you dug the beat, so come on girl, be nice to me..." is a hard no. But it was the 70s.</p>
<p>If you're scared of where this might lead, take a look at the tags. And it's me... I'm mushy. Comments welcomed with open arms. Keep your racism and negativity to yourself. I ain't for everybody, but I'm for somebody.</p>
<p>Beta by a friend. Any typos or whatever are all me. *shrug*</p>
<p>Thanks to all who leave comments and kudos after all these years. I really appreciate it because life is lots of lemons for me.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“That was amazing.” Greg dabs at his lips with his napkin, and lets out a contented sigh. “Heavenly.” If he thought he could pull it off without Mycroft knowing, he’d loosen his belt a notch. Or two. “Haven’t had a decent steak frites in ages. Cooked perfectly, and even the salad was scrummy, with the bleu cheese and bacon. Not that I expected anything less from you choosing the restaurant. Did you enjoy the lamb?”</p>
<p>“Perfect, as were the carrots and mashed cauliflower,” Mycroft says, and tilts his head toward Greg’s empty glass. “Another old fashioned?”</p>
<p>“Trying to get me drunk?”</p>
<p>“I would have chosen wine, since my intel says it goes straight to your head.”</p>
<p>“It’s in my genes,” Greg says with a shrug. “A Lestrade can drink hard spirits by the gallon, and still walk a straight line.”</p>
<p>“I won’t go for the obvious joke.”</p>
<p>“Nothing straight about this Lestrade,” Greg laughs. “Thanks, but no more drinks for me, since you’re looking like you’ve got all the tricks up your sleeves.”</p>
<p>“I assure you, there is nothing up my sleeves save the garters I use to keep them in place.”</p>
<p>Greg shakes his head. “Such a throwback to another time is what you are. All your buttons and bows and chains. All put together like a fine gentleman. So, what’s next… a carriage ride around Hyde Park?”</p>
<p>“I’m certain you don’t want anything as tame as a carriage ride.”</p>
<p>“Oh, there’s that mastermind tone I’ve come to fear...”</p>
<p>Mycroft takes a leisurely sip of wine. “The last thing I want from you is fear.”</p>
<p>“What’s the first thing?” Greg asks, wary, and feeling a bit tight in the chest from the three drinks he’s now regretting. “I just… well, thank you for a lovely evening. You know… in case I don’t survive whatever it is you’re feeling so smug about. If we’re splitting the bill –”</p>
<p>“We aren’t,” Mycroft cuts in. “I invited you; I’ve already paid. However…”</p>
<p>Greg looks at him, eyebrows raised. “Yeah?”</p>
<p>“Are we ending the evening so soon? Are you amenable to a nightcap of some sort? Or shall I invite you to mine to see my etchings?”</p>
<p>“Your etchings? Oh…” Greg lets out a nervous chuckle. “I would love to, but, erm… there’s an early presser in the morning, so… I should probably get home.”</p>
<p>Mycroft sighs, and places his napkin next to his plate. “I’m afraid we’re at cross purposes, Gregory.”</p>
<p>“How do you mean?” </p>
<p>“Oh, dear, this is embarrassing. I don’t want to be that person, you understand.”</p>
<p>Greg frowns and puts both hands on the table. “Mycroft, what are you talking about?”</p>
<p>“I’m referring to your meal.”</p>
<p>“What about it? You didn’t… Sherlock once gave me chocolate strawberries that were dosed and I…”</p>
<p>“I didn’t do anything to your meal, Gregory.” </p>
<p>“So then what?”</p>
<p>“As I said, this is embarrassing to mention, and I should be ashamed for being such a… cad, but… your meal was on the so-called, ah… fucking side of the menu.” </p>
<p>“The WHAT?”</p>
<p>“Am I using the incorrect terminology? If memory serves, your tales of dates ordering from the ‘right’ or ‘wrong’ side of the menu were rather sexist; however, I was intrigued as to whether or not I could apply the same to our outings.” </p>
<p>“I was joking!”</p>
<p>“Perhaps,” Mycroft says with a small lift of his shoulder. “Nevertheless, I was intrigued at the notion that there is an unspoken… ah, obligation, should one make the choice of a lobster meal, or should one desire an extra glass of a mid-priced chardonnay. We’ve had three dates in the past six weeks. I’ve paid for them all. Isn’t time I was repaid?”</p>
<p>“You wouldn’t let me pay!” Greg is practically shouting, but calms himself at Mycroft’s raised eyebrow. “Had I known you were expecting sex, I would have insisted on paying.”</p>
<p>“There is always an expectation of sex, according to your sordid tales. You asserted that women are aware of this at scratch. I disagree, but it suits my purposes to skew the facts in my favour."</p>
<p>“That’s not… you know that’s not what I meant by all that,” Greg protests. “And I’d had wine, and was off my arse. I’d never take advantage of a woman that way. You know that.”</p>
<p>“I do know that about the current incarnation of Gregory Lestrade. University Greg, however, was a horse of a different colour. Beautiful, highly sexual, a tad irresponsible, and… what was it you said? ‘Up for anything’, with your leather jacket, bare chest, and tight denims. Your exploits could be used as a cautionary tale.”</p>
<p>“Well, DCI Lestrade is older and wiser, and is definitely not up for whatever it is you’re proposing.”</p>
<p>“Unfortunate.” Mycroft clears his throat. “Seeing as your portion of the meal – an aged porterhouse and organic accompaniments – cost as much as the monthly budget for a small country, is it not unreasonable for me to expect at least a bit of frottage or some type of intimate touching, Gregory? It’s been ages since I’ve indulged. The back seat in my car is heated, and my driver is quite discreet. However, if that’s not to your liking, the alleyway behind the restaurant is quiet, and relatively clean. Or, we can be a cliché, and take advantage of the spacious restroom with a sturdy lock.”</p>
<p>“I’ll pay for my own steak,” Greg huffs. “I’m not frottaging anyone in the car, the alley, or in the men’s toilet, you tosser.”</p>
<p>“Your meal has been paid for,” Mycroft sniffs, and drinks more wine. “And one doesn’t conjugate frottage in that manner.”</p>
<p>“One should know exactly what I meant. I’m not having it off with you because you bought me a steak. No matter how aged and perfect it was.” </p>
<p>“Well, this is unfortunate.”</p>
<p>“That I don’t want to have it off with you in the alley? Mycroft, that’s ridiculous.”</p>
<p>“Be that as it may, I’ve already played the tune, and you’ve danced. The piper must be paid.”</p>
<p>“You could have said upfront. I would have had the sandwich or the house salad and a fizzy water.”</p>
<p>“In such an expensive establishment, even the salad would warrant some type of discreet touching. Under the table would be fair in that instance.”</p>
<p>“Only a pervert would be thinking that.”</p>
<p>“But it’s you who is aroused, imagining the things I would have you do under the table.”</p>
<p>“That’s not arousal, you berk. That’s me not believing that you want to… I can’t believe you’re even considering… in the toilet? With my knees?”</p>
<p>“Yes. You’re very attractive, and I’m certain you chose those trousers to catch my attention. It worked, and so now it’s time to… how did you put it? Be nice to me.”</p>
<p>“Bugger.”</p>
<p>“That is on the table as well,” Mycroft says, giving Greg a sly look. “We can figure the logistics beforehand.”</p>
<p>“And if I refuse?”</p>
<p>“I would hope you’d have a better sense of preservation, Gregory. Imagine turning on your television, and not seeing the match you’ve been waiting for all week. Or having no internet. And so forth. What a travesty.”</p>
<p>“What an ass you are,” Greg sighs, scrubbing at his face with both hands. He stops, and considers. On one hand, he thinks, it’s such a fucking Mycroft thing to do, taking advantage. On the other hand, it’s getting down and dirty with Mycroft, and not in a bed. He decides he likes that idea. And he is aroused, damn it. “Yeah, all right. Pay the piper, and whatever.”</p>
<p>“Excellent.” </p>
<p>Greg notes that he’s practically purring. “You sound like a supervillain. It’s making me nervous.”</p>
<p>“Pardon my joy at having unlimited access to your delectable body.”</p>
<p>“Unlimited?” </p>
<p>“Within reason. But no skimping on your part.”</p>
<p>“In that case, call the waiter back. I’m having that triple chocolate cake with the ice cream, and some of that expensive bourbon.”</p>
<p>“I have a bourbon in the car that I know you’ll love. Would you be amenable to having the dessert as a takeaway?”</p>
<p>Greg frowns at that. “Won’t the ice cream melt?” </p>
<p>Mycroft favors Greg with his most wicked grin. “It is my fervent hope.”</p>
<p>“Oh, you are a horny beast, aren’t you?”</p>
<p>“I admit to nothing.”</p>
<p>“You don’t have to,” Greg says. “Your pupils are blown, and you’re tapping your foot. Practically jumping out of your seat in anticipation. I mean… I’m flattered, and very keen on seeing this through, but I’m not taking my cake into the bathroom, or the alley. I do have some class.”</p>
<p>“Those who have class never make mention that they do, in fact, have class,” Mycroft shrugs. “The car seats are being heated as we speak.”</p>
<p>“You’re a posh, high-handed bit of a jackass,” Greg laughs, “but I am nuts about you.”</p>
<p>“I am aware.” Mycroft flashes a brief smile, removes his phone from his inner pocket and sends a text. “Two hours and forty-three minutes.” </p>
<p>“That work?” Greg asks, frowning. As much as he didn’t want to do this, he’d hate to now not have it on the table because Mycroft was off to some secret meeting. “I’ve come round to the idea, and would hate to have to eat melted ice cream alone.”</p>
<p>“Not at all,” Mycroft says, and puts his phone back in his pocket. “I was sharing the time it took for you to break character. Sherlock gave you an hour; Anthea, two. John didn’t think you would last more than five minutes, because of the taxi incident the last time.”</p>
<p>“Oh, the lot of you can fuck right off,” Greg says, but he smiles as he says it. “It’s why they don’t send me undercover. You did well, though. Embarrassed, but horny. I’m impressed.”</p>
<p>“I enjoy role playing with you.” Mycroft reaches his hand across the table, palm up, and smiles when Greg puts his hand on top, making their rings clink. “Happy anniversary, Gregory. I appreciate that you’ve stayed married to me for ten years. Given my propensity for leaving you for weeks on end, and keeping the temperature of our home near freezing, I am always filled with joy when I wake to see you in our bed, or sitting in the lounge watching your matches.”</p>
<p>“Like you haven’t ruined me for anyone else,” Greg grumbles. “I mean, who else would use a fantastic steak dinner to have a snog in the car? My berk of a husband.”</p>
<p>“I was hoping for the alley.”</p>
<p>“With ice cream? You are so very nasty, Mycroft Holmes.”</p>
<p>“And you love it,” Mycroft smiles. “It’s why you married me. Fine food, exquisite spirits, and the incongruity of it all.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, well… happy anniversary, love.”</p>
<p>“Since the current temperature is not conducive to any outdoor activity, I’ve had the cake delivered to the car, which is parked in a discreet area in the alley. Thomas will be back in an hour… unless you’d like the added bonus of the driver pointedly ignoring our backseat shenanigans…?”</p>
<p>“No, no…” Greg blushes. “Just us is fine. But isn’t an hour a bit…ah, optimistic?”</p>
<p>“There’s ice cream,” Mycroft says, and stands. “I’ll need you to walk ahead of me. I’m terribly aroused.”</p>
<p>“Me, too. Always seem to be these days, and only for you.” Greg stands, and moves in front of Mycroft, pressing against him discreetly. “Wow… might not make it to the car, feeling all that. How about the toilet?”</p>
<p>“Nasty, indeed,” Mycroft says, but he feels himself smiling at just how lucky he is.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>(Forty-seven minutes later)</p>
<p>“The, ah, car will be here shortly, sir.” Thomas looks pointedly at a spot over Mycroft’s shoulder, because while this isn’t the first time he’s left these two, only to come back to a mess, it’s never not embarrassing, seeing his boss…debauched. “The window will be replaced in the morning.” He clears his throat. “And I’m sure Mr. Lestrade’s shoe will be found.”</p>
<p>Mycroft tugs his ruined waistcoat together, and looks over at Greg. “Thank you, Thomas.”</p>
<p>“My favorite shoes,” Greg says quietly. “My mum gave them to me last Christmas.”</p>
<p>“Feel free to sort through the shrubbery for them, Gregory. But please, remove my coat before you do.”</p>
<p>“I’m practically naked under here!” Greg hisses. “And why am I naked? Because you can’t be trusted to just stick to the plan. Frottage, he says. But suddenly, because I’m a sucker for a man with a long tongue, you –”</p>
<p>“Oh, here’s the car,” Thomas cuts in quickly. “Thank god.”</p>
<p>“Thank you, Thomas,” Greg says, and tugs the coat closed as much as he can. “I’m freezing.”</p>
<p>“At least you have a coat,” Mycroft grumbles, following Greg to the waiting car. “You’ve ruined another jacket, and I have to have another set of buttons sewn on to this waistcoat. My haberdasher is going to give me that look that is reserved for perverts.”</p>
<p>“I’m sure your haberdasher has seen worse,” Greg says, sliding into the car’s backseat. “But I think it’s more embarrassing to have to ride home in the backseat like kids who got caught snogging. Damn. You should learn to drive so we don’t have to involve your drivers in our… erm… shenanigans. Or whatever. Thomas is going to quit.”</p>
<p>“He won’t, but I’ll speak with him. Eventually,” Mycroft adds, getting into the backseat beside him, shivering. “Just cease talking, and turn up the heat. It’s quite cold.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, sorry, love.” Greg rummages through the seat pouch, and comes up with a pair of gloves. “Put these on. We’ll be home soon.”</p>
<p>“Thank you.” Mycroft puts on the gloves. “I’m sorry I got carried away.”</p>
<p>“That tongue of yours is lethal, but it’s not all your fault this time. Should have taken both shoes off. And remembered that the windows crack but don’t break.”</p>
<p>“The sight of you with the ice cream on your inner thigh was quite arousing,” Mycroft says with a blush. “You make me lose any modicum of self-control or discretion. So unlike me.”</p>
<p>“I like this you,” Greg says softly, leaning over to lay his head on Mycroft’s shoulder. “Makes me feel like I’m Uni Greg, sexy, and up for anything.”</p>
<p>Mycroft presses his lips to Greg’s forehead. “I have no idea what I did to deserve such good fortune, but I am grateful to whatever deity is responsible for bringing you to me.”</p>
<p>“Probably the devil,” Greg laughs. “Given what devilment we get up to.”</p>
<p>“Like the sudden urge I have to ease a hand in your pants and see if I can keep you on edge until we get home?”</p>
<p>Greg sits up quickly. “No, no, no. Get thee behind me.”</p>
<p>“As you wish,” Mycroft says, tugging him back down to lie against his chest. “There’s still the matter of your cake.”</p>
<p>“Yeah?”</p>
<p>“Virtually unscathed.”</p>
<p>Near salivating, Greg takes Mycroft’s hand and places it inside the waistband of his pants, and is thrilled at how warm the glove feels against his skin. “How long until we’re home?”</p>
<p>Fin</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>In my mind, Mycroft is given to having Greg go along with all his sordid fantasies, which mostly involve Greg role playing or being ravished in a car. </p>
<p>If you're interested in hearing the song, which has so much soul, and amazing horns, it's here: https://youtu.be/tGQizt8o6gU.</p>
<p>I'm on tumblr as lyricalsoulwrites. Sometimes.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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